


The Real You

by SquiggidWithShame



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Parenting, Dorothea Is A Female Icon, F/M, Gen, M/M, Online Friendship, Prom, Social Anxiety, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24497935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquiggidWithShame/pseuds/SquiggidWithShame
Summary: Sylvain’s not quite sure what it is, but there’s something about talking to Bernie that makes him able to open up and speak honestly in a way that he’s never done before, not even with his best friends. Sure, it’s the anonymity of talking online, but it’s not just that. It’s something with Bernie specifically.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sylvain Jose Gautier & Bernadetta von Varley, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The following ships are mentioned but overall not important to the plot, so I didn’t want to tag them, but:
> 
> Dorothea/Ingrid  
> Felix/Annette  
> Ashe/Dedue  
> Dimitri/Claude  
> Mercedes/Byleth  
> Leo/Takumi
> 
> Also all Black Eagles and Blue Lions are included!

“So, I don’t usually comment, but this was so beautifully written that I had to. It’s easy to write Leo or Takumi as caricatures of themselves, but you wrote them so realistically, with what makes us love them and what makes us hate them. I can tell that you put a lot of thought and effort into this fic, from start to finish, and I appreciate it every step of the way.”

Almost immediately, not even five minutes later:

“Hey! Thank you so much for reading and for the thoughtful review! I definitely took a long time to think about the fic before writing it, haha… maybe too long… but I’m glad it all paid off for readers like you! Thanks again!”

In a dark, quiet room, in the dead of night, Bernie closes her laptop and pulls the bedsheets over her head, smiling softly to herself.

—

“Bernie! How was your weekend?”

“Wh-what? Um… I… I don’t know.”

Dorothea cocks her head while Bernie does everything she can to try to sink further into her desk.

School is hard. Everyone demands too much of her, and everyone around her is too brilliant. Dorothea can’t help her beautiful voice in Choir, Linhardt has already read every book for the semester in English, and Edelgard is too good at, well, everything. Even Petra, the exchange student, is bright and sharp, even if she stumbles over words sometimes.

And then there’s her, little Bernadetta, trying to be so quiet she disappears.

“Aha, it’s OK,” Dorothea says, laughing off the awkward response. “Hey, maybe we can talk more after school! Wanna go to a café?”

“I… can’t…” Bernie mumbles.

She can’t go out. After school she has to go to finishing school, to learn all the manners and proper ways to be a lady. So that she can be a good wife one day and finally be useful to someone.

And then after finishing school, she goes straight home, where her father and his calculated, disapproving eyes wait for her.

“Oh, OK,” Dorothea says, frowning a little. “Maybe next time, then.”

“Y-yeah…”

The bell to signal the end of home room shrills in the hallway, and Bernie scrambles out of her seat.

School is hard, which is why it feels like such a godsend that, at the end of the day, when the sun’s gone down, she can quietly creep into her room, open her laptop, and fall into a world of words.

Looking at the familiar website interface immediately triggers a reaction in her: her shoulders loosen, her eyebrows unfurrow, and she actually allows herself to smile a bit. Mentally and physically, she relaxes as she reads and responds to people’s comments on her work, all without actually having to meet them face-to-face, without having to worry about her shaggy hair, her little nose, her tiny stature, her constantly quivering voice.

God bless the internet.

_ Ping! _

A notification.

But wait.

Bernie rubs her eyes and looks again.

It’s not a notification from a comment. It’s a private message.

Her heart skips a beat. She doesn’t usually get messages, and usually it’s just spam. The thought of privately interacting with someone, even if it’s over the internet, is still enough to make her stomach churn.

With trembling fingers, she clicks the message.

“Hey! I commented yesterday on your fic. Tbh, I went through and read all of your fics here, just because I couldn’t get enough of your writing. Do you have any original works or anything? I don’t know, I just want to read more of your stuff, haha.”

The previous fuzzy trepidation in Bernie’s chest smoothes over into a warm confidence. With maybe a little smile, she responds.

“Hi! Unfortunately, I don’t have any original works, at least not ready for reading. I’m glad you enjoy my writing! Hopefully you didn’t go too far back and see anything embarrassing, lol.”

Bernie doesn’t have to wait long to hear another “ _ Ping _ !”

“Honestly, even your stuff from five years ago was still good. Sure, you’ve improved a lot, but it’s still you, you can tell. And it’s impressive to see how much you’ve grown as a writer.”

“Ahh, you’re too nice. I’d hope I’d have grown in the last five years, haha. Well, at least as a writer. Not sure I’ve done much growing irl.”

“Tell me about it. I mean, I don’t know about you, but I’m in high school and reading gay fanfiction. You could say that’s not exactly grown up, which is probably why I don’t go around announcing it to everyone at school.”

“Same! I’m in high school, too. It’s hard for me to connect with people irl so I’m really thankful for places like this where I can talk to and meet cool people like you. :)”

“I’m cool, wow! I’m flattered. Btw, I’m Sylvain. Nice to meet you!”

Sylvain.

Bernie’s heart nearly stops.

This user is a boy. This whole time, she’s been talking to a boy.

Well, this changes things.

Without replying, with a reel of thoughts rolling through her head, Bernie closes her laptop and pulls the sheets over her head, but doesn’t manage to fall asleep for hours.

—

“Good morning, Bernadetta. Did you not sleep well? You’re looking more sullen than usual today.”

Bernie can barely look up at the brilliance that is Edelgard von Hrsevelg. The power she holds demands attention and respect all around her as soon as she walks into a classroom. Just as expected from the class president.

“O-oh, I’m fine,” Bernie mumbles, sinking into her seat.

Edelgard frowns. “You don’t look fine. The bags under your eyes are more sunken than usual.”

“Perhaps she is having troubles at home?”

Bernie freezes at the cold, amused voice. Hubert, the vice president, always with that malicious sneer on his lips, never too far from his chief of command.

The image of her father and his cold, disapproving look flashes through Bernie’s mind. With a cold sweat washing over her, she loses what little voice she had.

It’s only home room, and she’s already feeling that familiar overwhelming feeling of being so small.

—

When the seventh period bell rings, there’s a familiar rush of throwing books in backpacks, zippers being zipped, and chairs haphazardly pushed under desks.

Bernie never rushes with the rest of them. Not in the beginning, at least. The crowd would swallow her up whole if she tried to enter right when the bell rang.

She deliberately takes her time packing up and overhears two classmates at the back of the crowd.

“Come on, Linhardt, we’re gonna be late!”

“Late for what?”

“Practice! You know I have practice after school.”

“And you know I have club after school,” Linhardt retorts unamused. “So what? Are we taking turns stating the obvious now?”

“Oh, come on,” Caspar whines loudly. “Can’t you just read at home?”

“Can’t you just dribble your ball at home?”

“Linhardt,” Caspar groans. Turning his head away, he pouts and mumbles, “I really wanted you to watch me practice.”

A pause, and then, “Ugh, fine, fine.”

“R-really?”

“As long I can read the occasional word between your baskets, sure.”

“All right! I’ll make sure you can’t read a single word—I’ll be making all my shots today!”

“That’s… not what I meant…”

Before they leave the classroom, an exhausted Linhardt shoots Bernie a dry look.

The heaviness Bernie’s felt in her heart all day finally lifts.

After making sure everyone has left the room, after making sure she’s truly alone, Bernie allows a small giggle past her lips. 

Not every guy is like her dad and his oppressive presence, his sharp gaze and constant scorn. There are some boys who are just… boys.

—

“Hi, Sylvain! I’m Bernie. Nice to meet you, too. :)”


	2. Chapter 2

Her name is Bernie, short for Bernadetta.

She’s in high school, just like him. She likes cats and baking. She’s shy and awkward around others, but online, she’s able to be herself.

And thank god for that, because she’s kind and brilliant, even if she doesn’t know it herself.

Sylvain’s not quite sure what it is, but there’s something about talking to Bernie that makes him able to open up and speak honestly in a way that he’s never done before, not even with his best friends. Sure, it’s the anonymity of talking online, and the way he can bypass the looks on the other person’s face when they see him and his dashing good looks (hey, he’s gotta admit it). But it’s not just that. It’s something with Bernie specifically.

Maybe it’s how beautifully she crafts her stories and how she seems like she can see through every character, all the good and the bad, but all in a way that makes a reader understand and appreciate them. Maybe he hopes that Bernie can see through him in that way.

And maybe it’s that he wants to show her that she’s more than just an awkward, timid girl with unrealistic expectations placed on her by her father. Maybe he wants to be that person to show her she’s valued more than that.

Amidst his musings, a magazine slams down on his desk.

“Here, for section six,” Ingrid explains.

Sylvain blinks. “What?”

Giving Sylvain a steady look, Ingrid says, “You haven’t even started on the group project, have you?”

Sylvain lets out an easy laugh and leans back in his chair. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. It’ll get done.”

“Don’t call me pretty, and stop procrastinating,” Ingrid snaps. “If you put as much effort into your school work as you did your flirting, you’d be at the top of the class by now.”

“Hey, what if I don’t wanna be at the top of the class?” Sylvain counters with a lightly offended look. “I wouldn’t dare steal the spotlight from little miss Annette.”

“Honestly, Sylvain,” Ingrid sighs, shaking her head. “Isn’t there a girl out there who’ll set you straight?”

At that, Sylvain actually closes his mouth.

A girl out there who’ll set him straight...?

Noticing the lack of a comeback, Ingrid says, “Oh? Is there a girl?”

“Um…”

“Oh, really, now?” A sneaky smile is starting to creep on Ingrid’s face.

“It’s not like that,” Sylvain rushes. “At least, I don’t think it is. It’s hard to say.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s complicated.”

“How so?”

“Geez, Ingrid, what’s up with the twenty questions?” Now it’s Sylvain’s turn to smirk. “What, are you jealous?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ingrid drawls, rolling her eyes. “I’ve known you way too long to ever want to be with you.”

“Ouch.”

“So, do I know her?”

“No.”

“Does anyone know her?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Ah, from a different school, then?” Ingrid pieces together, placing a finger on her chin. “How’d you meet her?”

For some reason, he doesn’t want to share that he met Bernie through erotic gay fanfiction.

“Eh, just an online thing,” Sylvain divulges. It’s not technically incorrect.

“Really? You get plenty of attention here—why would you feel the need to go online for that kind of stuff?”

“Oh, come on, you know it’s not the same,” Sylvain says, giving Ingrid a knowing look. She’s the one who admitted they’ve been friends for a long time; she should know the situation by now. “Everyone here knows me for my family name, and that’s all they want me for: my money. I don’t want to have to deal with that.”

“So, you hide that from people online?”

“It’s not… I don’t… I don’t  _ hide  _ it…”

“Hmm,” is all Ingrid says, of course, in that way of hers, looking down her nose at him.

He doesn’t hide it. If Bernie asks, he’ll share. But he faces that every day at school, with all the girls here who only talk to him because he’s a Gautier, with all the connections his father pushes him toward in order to uphold the family name. Online is somewhere separate from all that bullshit, somewhere he can just be Sylvain and not Sylvain Jose Gautier.

“Just don’t be dishonest,” Ingrid warns before taking her seat as the teacher walks in.

“You know me better than that, babe,” Sylvain says with a wink.

Ingrid scoffs, “Men,” as Mr. Hanneman begins his lecture.

—

Every day lately has just been waiting for the day to be over when he can go home and talk to Bernie. Maybe it’s because it’s not football season yet, so he has nothing to distract himself with after school. Felix is busy with the tennis team, Ingrid has that part-time gig, and the rest of his friends are busy with volleyball season. So after school, he just goes home and opens up his laptop.

It’s a bit antiquated, to be sending each other messages instead of texting, but it’s sort of nice, this long form of writing and communicating. It fits them, too, with their history through writing.

After coming home, saying hi to his brother’s closed door, and entering his own room, Sylvain opens his laptop.

That notification on top of his inbox always makes him smile.

“A Nirvana Cake? I don’t know, that sounds hard. Do I want someone to experience Nirvana while they’re eating my cake? Doesn’t that mean they die? I have no idea. I have tried making this soup called an Immortality Stew, though, but it turned out to be a disaster. Probably a good thing, since I don’t know if I want to be immortal. That sounds lonely.”

There’s something about her. Something that’s so charming, cute, fun, and smart. But also a little sad, a little lonely.

Sylvain wishes he can chase away that loneliness.

He begins to type.

“Idk, I can see why you’d think it’s lonely, but I think you could meet so many cool people over the years. You can see how people’s mindsets change as the world changes. Think about how cool that’d be! I mean, I guess it’s only cool if you change your mindset, too. It’d be weird to be, like, a thousand year old boomer. Hope school was good for you today, or at least OK!”

Bernie wouldn’t be getting out of school for at least a couple hours, due to their time difference—Seattle and New York are literally on the opposite ends of the country. And then after school, too, Bernie has that stupid finishing school that her dad makes her go to.

A burst of rage flares inside him, but he stamps out the fire. He wants to make Bernie happy, but there’s only so much he can do with this distance.

“Boys!” His mom calls from downstairs. “Come downstairs and have a snack! I cut some fruit.”

“Coming!” Sylvain calls back, closing his laptop.

Of course, they both know Miklan won’t be joining them, but they set up his seat anyway.

“So, how was school?” his mom asks, pushing the plate of fruit to her son.

“It was OK.”

“Learn anything new?”

“The, uh, mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell?”

“You said that yesterday, Sylvain.”

“Did I? Oops.”

His mom rolls her eyes, but she’s still smiling. “Made any new friends?”

“New friends? We’re almost near the end of the school year, Mom,” Sylvain laughs. “It’s not like someone new’s gonna come around now.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” his mom sighs. “I really was hoping there’d be some new girl that you could take with you to prom.”

Sylvain pauses with a mouthful of cantaloupe. “Prom?”

“Isn’t it that time of year?”

“I… I guess so,” Sylvain says, chewing slowly. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

“You don’t seem to like any of the girls at your school, even that nice young Mercedes.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s a lesbian, Mom.”

“Anyway, isn’t there any girl you want to take with you?”

Sylvain drops his gaze and chews in thought.

—

“Prom?” Felix says, setting his lunch tray on the table. “Don’t you have more important things to worry about?”

“Like what?”

“Have you started working on the group project yet?

“Why is everyone asking me that?” Sylvain says, waving a hand over his burger. “I’ll get it done, I’ll get it done.”

“Hm.”

“So you really haven’t thought about prom at all?”

“It’s still a ways away,” Felix points out, taking a sip of his drink. “That kind of stuff doesn’t really interest me, anyway.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sylvain says, a smirk widening on his lips. He leans in. “So, you don’t want to dance with Annette under the stars?”

Felix nearly spits out his drink. “Sylvain!”

“Hey, I’m just saying.”

Messing with his food, Felix mumbles, “It’s all too much trouble than it’s worth. It’s stupid.”

“Yeah, yeah, real stupid. Annette would be much better off going with someone else, anyway,” Sylvain teases. “Dancing with another guy, taking cute pictures with another guy…”

Felix’s eyes darken, and his fist closes on his fork. A brief image of a samurai protecting his master flashes through Sylvain’s mind.

“OK, what about you, then?” Felix spits out. “Do you have anyone you want to ask?”

Sylvain chews his lip and starts pushing around the food on his plate. “There is… someone. But I don’t even know if it’s a romantic thing. And also, I don’t know if I’m being crazy. I haven’t even met the girl.”

“You want to bring a girl you haven’t met?”

“We met online.”

“You sure she’s not catfishing you?”

“You’re right, she could be you in disguise.”

“You give me far too much credit,” Felix says smirking. “I don’t have the time, patience, or interest to do something like that to you.”

“Shit, she’s gotta be a real girl, then,” Sylvain says, rubbing his chin.

“Who’s gotta be a real girl?” says a soft voice as Ashe, Dedue, and Dimitri sit at the table. Ah, the volleyball dream team.

Felix jabs a thumb at Sylvain. “Lover boy here’s already thinking about prom.”

“Prom?” Dimitri says, opening his sports drink. “That’s not for a while. Don’t you have a group project to be working on?”

“I’ll get to it, oh, my god,” Sylvain groans. Quickly, he changes the subject. “Let’s jump on this before all the good ones are taken. Everyone likes a bit of initiative, right?”

“Initiative, yes, but not overzealousness,” Dimitri points out.

“Well, thinking about it this early on would give us time to think of creative ways to ask someone out, or at least muster up the courage to,” Ashe says brightly, smiling up at Dedue.

Dedue just shifts a bit and tries his best to smile.

“All right, then, it’s settled,” Sylvain decides with a slap on the table. “By the end of the week, let’s ask someone out to prom.”

The motivating energy is more for him than for anyone else.

—

Sylvain’s never used a group project as an excuse not to talk to a girl until now.

It’s stupid. The whole thing’s stupid. But he’s not the kind of guy to make a deal and then back down—and Felix would never let up if Sylvain showed up empty-handed. He’d probably send Christmas cards every year rubbing it in until he’s old and decrepit.

Sylvain and Bernie have been talking for a couple weeks now. Maybe a month? It’s definitely too early to ask someone to fly across the country and attend a dance. They haven’t even met yet. He doesn’t even know what she looks like yet.

He doesn’t even know what she looks like. She could be hideously ugly. She could be very plain-looking and boring. She could be blindingly and distractingly stunning.

Not knowing what she looks like could make him hesitant about the whole thing, but he sort of likes it. He doesn’t know what she looks like, and she doesn’t know what he looks like. In this superficial, clique-y world that is high school, it’s so quick and easy to glance at someone and decide whether or not you’d get along with them. But with the way they met, through their words, through just the pieces of them that they were willing to share, it feels different, special, like they’re seeing each other more clearly than if they were standing right across from each other.

Though he does wish they were standing right across from each other.

Asking Bernie out to prom would end all questions of what she looks like, what she sounds like. He would see her, and she would see him. It would end whatever made them special, what made them see each other without seeing each other.

But it’s worth it.

—

“Haha, yeah, I guess carnivorous plants are cute in their own way, you’re right. I never thought about that. 

“Hey… by the way, I know it’s sort of random, but… would you be interested in going to prom with me? I know it’s sudden, and it’s a whole trip and everything. I can help you with anything, if you want. I was just thinking about all the girls I could ask to prom, and you’re really the only one I want to ask. And it’s a good excuse to meet up, right? It could be as friends, even, if you don’t want it to be anything more. It’s up to you. Just let me know!”


	3. Chapter 3

Bernie gets the message and her mind goes blank.

She reads and rereads the message and doesn’t even realize she’s holding her breath until she has to take one, a shaky inhale quietly through her nose.

Prom? Prom? The dance that she’s only ever dreamed about? The dance that she loves romanticizing but also dreads thinking about, because nobody’s ever asked her to a school dance, besides one boy in middle school who got too scared of her father and never spoke to her again? The dance that would probably hike up her anxiety even higher than it already is, with all the people and the loud music and the  _ dancing _ ?

She’s never even gone to prom with friends because she doesn’t even have friends. And it would be humiliating to go alone.

That prom? 

Slowly, quietly, Bernie closes her laptop and sinks into her bed.

—

It’s true that she’s at least thought about it. Of course she has, that’s all people have been able to talk about. But it seems like everyone’s been paired off already, and the groups of just friends haven’t asked Bernie to join them.

Not like they would. It’s not like she’s friends with any of them. It’s not like she has any friends at all.

“Ah, Linhardt, perhaps you could assist me.”

“Not interested.”

“... but I haven’t explained my situation yet.”

“Exactly.”

Ferdinand sighs and meets Bernie’s eyes. With a squeak, Bernie automatically goes for the hood of her jacket, but not before Ferdinand is right in front of her desk, all bright smiles and sunshine.

“Bernadetta! Of course! How could I have overlooked you?” Ferdinand says brightly.

How could he have overlooked her? Maybe because everyone else in the world has.

“You see, I’ve been struggling with this poem to ask someone to prom,” Ferdinand continues. “I was originally planning to ask Linhardt, as a member of the Book Club, but seeing as he is not motivated to help me, I thought it would be fitting to ask you instead, as someone who has been published in our literary magazine.”

A stupid realization that other people actually read her work—signed by her first and last name—in the school literary magazine hits her with dread. She has to look up laws on changing her name once she gets home.

“U-umm,” Bernie whimpers. Her fingers play anxiously with the pull strings of her hood. “I-I don’t know too much about poetry…”

“Nonsense, it can’t be too different from prose.”

“It’s… pretty different, actually,” Bernie says, loosening up a bit now that the conversation falls into a topic she’s comfortable with. “Like, why did you write a poem instead of a story or a letter?”

“A story or a letter?” Ferdinand tilts his head in thought. “You raise a fair point. Shall I write a story instead?”

“Well, what would they like?”

“Pardon?”

“The person you’re writing for,” Bernie clarifies. “It’s not just about how you communicate. It’s about how they communicate, too.”

Ferdinand’s eyes light up, and his entire body bristles with an excited energy. “Bernadetta! You’re a genius!”

“H-hardly…”

“You have my deepest gratitude! I have much to think about.”

As Ferdinand leaves with a broad chest and his nose in the air, Bernie can’t help feeling proud of being a part of her classmate’s romantic pursuit.

But just as that happiness blooms within her, a weighing darkness chases it away.

Why can’t it be her? Why can’t she be the one to have a poem written for her?

And then she remembers that, for once, she is that person. It’s a message, not a poem, but someone has put their heart out for her. She’s always dreamed of a moment like this, but now that she’s in this situation, she doesn’t quite know what to do.

Curling up in her chair, she finally actually pulls her hood over her head.

—

It’s a crazy idea, to travel across the country to meet someone she’s never met, someone she’s only known for a few weeks, all for some stupid dance. 

It’s a crazy idea, but it’s so romantic. 

But how does Sylvain feel? Does he like her? He said that they could just go as friends, if she wanted to. What does that mean? Maybe he’d been trying to make it easier for her, but he just made it so much more confusing.

A hand shoots up in the middle of the lecture. 

Ms. Manuela’s eyebrows raise. “Yes?”

“Excuse me, Ms. Manuela, but I must be telling you that this is incorrect,” Petra says sharply. Her voice is commanding and her tone is brisk, even if she doesn’t mean to be, maybe just because that’s how people talk in her native country. “It is not surprising that this version of the story is told in this country, but this is not the truth.”

“Oh?” Ms. Manuela says, interested. “Do tell.”

“With gladness, I will,” Petra says, standing up from her desk.

Someone giggles at the back of the class, but Dorothea hushes them. Even if it’s a bit awkward for Petra to be standing up as she explains the history of her country, it can’t be denied that it’s sort of awesome, the way she can stand so proud in a foreign country and explain the truth behind a story corrupted by political bias.

Petra. Petra has come all the way from another country, and she can still stand tall and speak in front of her classmates. She still communicates and is active in classes and clubs, even when she stumbles over words, even when sometimes she misses cultural social cues.

Here’s Petra spending a whole year going to school in a foreign country. Meanwhile Bernie’s over here stressing out about flying within the country for one night to dance.

Bernie’s eyes fall from Petra’s frame to the empty notebook in front of her. She really is pathetic, huh.

—

Finishing school has finally stopped, which is great, because she doesn’t think she can stand to look at another salad-fork-not-a-steak-fork again, but that also just means that Bernie has to stay after school for a little while to wait for her dad to come pick her up. She doesn’t mind—it’s a great time to finish her homework so she doesn’t have to bring any textbooks home. Those books can be pretty heavy, and they can easily overwhelm her tiny self.

It is, though, admittedly a bit lonely to see everyone slowly leave school or break off into their respective clubs while she waits on the curb outside. 

The doors opens, and Dorothea steps out.

“Bernie,” Dorothea acknowledges lightly, walking toward her. “You’re still here.”

“I… yeah… ” Bernie trails off. What else is there to say? “You are, too…?”

“Yeah, with the musical all finished up, there’s not much for the drama club to do,” Dorothea explains, plopping down next to Bernie. “Still, sometimes I hang around just to say hi to people.”

“You... have a lot of friends.”

“Mm, you could say that,” Dorothea says, smiling but not quite with the twinkle it usually has. “What about you?”

“Wh-what about me?”

“Why are you here?”

“I…” Bernie’s sentence falls flat.

Why is she here? Part of her loss for words is because she doesn’t want to go through the trouble of explaining her unique situation. But part of her is just stuck on the question.

Why is she here? Why is she here when everyone else is in clubs or just hanging around and saying hi to friends?

“I…” Her voice quivers, and her hands tremble as she instinctively starts to pull her hood over her head again. “I don’t know…”

“Whoa, whoa, hey!” Dorothea exclaims, pulling Bernie into a tight side hug. “What’s wrong? Do you need a ride home?”

“No, I…” Her whole body’s starting to shake within Dorothea’s hold. “I don’t… I don’t have any friends.”

“What are you talking about? Aren’t we friends?”

“A-are we?”

Dorothea gives her that not-quite-smile again. “Well, I thought we were, but…”

Dorothea… thought of her as a friend? When did that happen? When did they become friends? They didn’t even really talk much; they just had classes together. Was that all it took to be friends?

Those times Dorothea greeted her in the morning. When Linhardt gave her that knowing look about Caspar’s enthusiasm. When Edelgard and Hubert checked in on her. When Ferdinand asked for her advice.

Did they all consider her a friend?

An unfamiliar warm feeling pools in the bottom of her heart.

Idiot. She’s been such an idiot.

“I’m sorry,” Bernie says quietly.

Dorothea still has that sad smile on her lips. “For what, for not being my friend or for saying I’m not your friend?”

“I can… be your friend..” Bernie struggles, starting to unravel from her hunched position. “... if you want me to…”

“Of course I want you to, silly,” Dorothea says laughing. Finally, it’s a real smile. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Maybe, just maybe, Bernie lets herself feel companionship for once. Dorothea’s body is warm next to hers.

“Hey, Dorothea,” Bernie starts. “You’re going to prom, right?”

“Prom? Well, sure,” Dorothea says, twirling a hair around her finger. “Is that what this is all about? I can see if you can come with our group, though it is a bunch of drama kids.”

“N-no, it’s not that, I…” Bernie pauses and mumbles to herself, “Well, I don’t think it is. Is that how it works? If he asked me, does that mean he has to come to mine, too?”

“What? You got asked out by someone from another school?” Dorothea exclaims, leaning in even closer. “Who? What school?”

“U-uhh,” Bernie hesitates, instinctively leaning back. “I-I don’t know what school, actually, he lives in New York.”

“New York? New  _ York _ ?” They can probably hear Dorothea all the way from the baseball field. “How’d you manage to get a date all the way in New York?”

“I-it’s hard to explain.”

“Bernie! Look at you!” Dorothea says, impressed and maybe a little proud. “I didn’t know you had it in ya, girl.”

“A-ah…” What is this feeling? Embarrassment mixed with… pride? Is that what that is?

“When are you leaving?”

“I don’t know,” Bernie says, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t even know how I’d get there or where I’d stay.”

“Do you not travel much?”

“Not at all.”

Dorothea claps her hands together. “Well, then! Let me be your guide on this journey. I’ve been to New York a couple times for drama camps.”

“W-what? You want to come?”

“Sure! Any excuse to go to my favorite city again.”

“But what about prom?”

“Agh, well…” Her enthusiasm fades from her eyes. “The person I wanted to go with isn’t even going to be in the country that weekend, so I just said yes to the first guy who asked me. So it’s not that big a deal to me, this year’s prom.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Bernie says. Not going to be in the same country? Who would fly away to another country during such an important high school weekend? Unless they had made plans already and didn’t know? Or just didn’t know about the custom of prom in general?

“Anyway, maybe it’ll be a good break for me to go to another prom!” Dorothea says, turning up her enthusiasm again. “Maybe I can meet someone new there, or just have fun!”

“I’d have to ask,” Bernie says, a bit awkwardly.

“Sure, sure, of course. But I think they’d say yes if you explain you don’t want to fly across the country alone.”

A beat up sedan pulls up to the school, and Dorothea gets up and starts walking toward it. “Keep me updated!”

“Y-yeah, OK,” Bernie says, giving a little wave as Dorothea’s ride drives off. 

What… what just happened? Had she accepted Sylvain’s offer without even realizing it?

—

Bernie’s heart is pounding as she walks up the stairs, opens her laptop, and sees the message once again in her inbox.

“Hey… by the way, I know it’s sort of random, but… would you be interested in going to prom with me?”

Her fingers tremble above the keys, and the room closes in on all sides around her.

“It could be as friends, even, if you don’t want it to be anything more. It’s up to you. Just let me know!”

She takes a deep breath and begins to type.

“Hey, sorry for leaving you on read. I had to take some time to think about it, but that was selfish of me. The problem is that I’ve never traveled by myself before, anywhere, ever. So I would be OK with it as long as I could bring a friend? If that works with your group, that is. I don’t know, idk anything about how prom works... Sorry if I’m just causing trouble for you. Let me know?”

It’s a pathetic message, but Bernie sends it anyway. Hopefully Sylvain doesn’t think she’s too much of a mess.

Thankfully, he doesn’t wait long to leave her guessing.

“You’re not causing trouble at all! I think bringing a friend is a great idea. I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable in any way. I’ll send you all the details. Awesome, I’m excited!”

Excited? That’s an understatement. It feels like her heart is going to burst from her chest.


	4. Chapter 4

She said yes.

She said yes!

Sylvain can’t help grinning from ear to ear like a kid on Christmas.

He immediately reaches for his phone and taps Felix’s name.

“Dude, she said yes!”

A second, and then the gray dots bubble up.

“Nice.”

Letting out a great, big sigh that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, Sylvain drops backward onto the bed, arms stretched over his pillows.

—

The next few weeks are a blur. Annette, Mercedes, and Ashe are having the most fun organizing everything, dinner and all, so the group lets them handle it. It seems a bit more complicated on Bernie’s end, with figuring out travel expenses and all, but her friend (Dorothea?) seems to be helping steer the operation.

He’s so glad Bernie was able to make a friend out of all of this, and he hopes that she’ll hit it off with his friends once she comes.

It’s the day before the big day, and the cafeteria is filled with an anxious, excited energy, like a rumbling electricity ready to blow a fuse.

“All right, everyone know the plan?” Ingrid asks like a commander asking her subordinates to repeat back instructions she’d just given out.

“Meet at my house at five for pictures,” Dimitri starts. “Then we’ll break off into two cars—Dedue’s and Mercedes’—to go to the restaurant, Fodlan’s Locket—”

“By six o’ clock.”

“And then we head to the venue after dinner.”

“It’s going to be a magical night!” Annette swoons. “Right, Felix?”

Blushing hard, Felix stammers out, “R-right.”

Mercedes’ smile is wide, but her tone is ominous as she says, “You’d better not let her down, Felix.”

“R-right!”

“I agree, I think it will be magical,” Ashe says, smiling up at Dedue.

Dedue actually manages to smile.

“I just hope there’s no drama,” Ingrid groans. “Some other groups have already gotten in some drama based on who’s joining whose group.”

“Yes, I would be happy to avoid such drama, as well,” Dimitri agrees. “Which is why I am very glad to be attending with you as a dear friend.”

Ingrid offers a grateful smile.

“Mercedes, you sure you don’t want to go with that boy who asked you?” Sylvain asks the pleasantly smiling girl across from him.

Mercedes shakes her head. “I really only wanted to go with Ms. Byleth, but unfortunately, she turned me down.”

“Well, yeah, she’s a teacher.”

“A beautiful and mysterious teacher.”

“All right, all right,” Sylvain waves away before it gets any weirder. “Everyone, be on your best behavior when Bernie and her friends get here. I don’t want her thinking I hang out with a bunch of weirdos.”

“But we are a bunch of weirdos,” Ingrid says matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, but I don’t need her to know that.”

“Awww,” Felix teases, smirking. “Is someone nervous?”

Sylvain doesn’t answer.

—

“Hello from New York! Crazy to think we’re so close now. I just got settled—or ‘settled’—into Dorothea’s friend’s apartment. New York is such a big city! Nothing like Seattle… Honestly, it’s sort of overwhelming. I just hope I don’t get lost, haha...”

“Hey! Glad to see you got in safe. You said the friend you’re staying with lives in Brooklyn, right? (weird that his school is out already… Keep Austin Weird is real, I guess) It shouldn’t be too hard to commute over to Long Island, but let me know if you need any help. Maybe we should exchange numbers, just in case? You can text me at 718-212-4460.”

—

Felix’s eyebrows shoot up when Sylvain gets out of his car, and a sneer crawls across his face.

“I don’t know who you’re trying to fool with that white suit, but as your best friend for the past seventeen years, I can tell you’re a complete and utter mess.”

“I really wish one day you’d be nice to me,” Sylvain says, fiddling with the cuffs of his suit. “You should probably practice being nice so that you’re not a huge buzzkill for Annette.”

Finally, Felix’s sneer falters. He clears his throat, shifts uncomfortably on his toes, and then says under his breath, “When are the girls going to get here, anyway?”

“They’re not here yet? You’d think they’d be the first ones.”

“Why would you think that.”

“Because they’re the most excited?”

“They’re girls. They’re going to take a long time getting ready.”

“Geez, didn’t know you were such a generalizing piece of shit, Felix.”

“It’s not that, it’s…” A rose tint crawls up his cheeks. “Annette texted me. She said they would be late.”

“Oh?” Now it’s Sylvain’s turn to smirk. “You got her number?”

“W-well, it only makes sense, with coordination and all.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“Try me, tennis boy, see what happens.”

Dimitri, Ashe, and Dedue finally open the front door, just in time for Dedue to manhandle a feral Felix away from Sylvain.

“Really? Now, of all times?” Dimitri lectures the boys.

“He started it!”

“No, he started it!”

“Now, now, let’s all get along,” Ashe tries with his pleasant voice. “Look, the girls are on their way.”

Dedue lets go of Felix’s shirt, and everyone’s eyes drift over to the white car pulling into the driveway.

The girls climb out of the car, and every single one of them is stunning. Annette is wearing a cute blue dress that matches her eyes, and her hair bounces with fresh curls. Mercedes has on a modest, respectable dress, and she looks beautiful with her hair in waves. Ingrid, even—tomboyish, rough-around-the-edges Ingrid—has managed to find a dress that accentuates the muscles of her body in a sexy way, with her hair cascading down her shoulders.

Ashe runs up to them right away. “You all look amazing!”

“Thank you, Ashe!” Annette says excitedly. She bounds up to Felix and holds up a hand. “So? How do I look?”

“Y-you…” Felix stammers, face turning a deep shade of red. “U-umm…”

Oh, Sylvain is so going to fuck around with him about this later.

“Sylvain, are you honestly wearing a white suit?” Ingrid chastises sharply as she gets closer.

Sylvain shrugs with a smile. “Hey, you know me. Always going the extra mile.”

“‘Extra’ is right.”

“So, we’re just waiting on Bernie’s friends, right?” Dimitri says, checking his phone.

Mercedes guesses, “Bernie, Dorothea, and…?”

“The person they’re crashing with, Dorothea’s friend,” Sylvain finishes. “They should be here any minute now…”

Right on cue, a yellow car pulls up, and three people climb out.

Sylvain’s breath hitches in his throat.

—

There are so many people. Not only that, but they’re all looking at the car, waiting for them to come out. Not only that, but they’re all incredibly, ridiculously attractive. 

“Come on, Bernie, let’s go say hi to your friends!” Dorothea says brightly.

“Y-yeah,” Bernie stammers out. She’s not even sure how she can find her voice right now.

They climb out of the car, with Bernie struggling with to move in a dress and fancy shoes. How was she supposed to walk around, let alone dance, in these heels and this dress that limits how far apart she can spread her legs? How does anyone do anything when they’re so uncomfortable?

Every step up the driveway feels like a step toward her afterlife. Oh, let the gods take her now so that no one can see the makeup Dorothea put on her.

Her eyes are trained on the ground, and she reaches out for Dorothea’s hand instinctively, like she’s still a kid and reaching for her mom. Luckily, before any shame consumes her, Dorothea gives her hand a squeeze.

“Hi, everyone!” Dorothea says with a brilliant smile. “I’m Dorothea. This is Bernie, and this is Claude.”

“Nice to meet ya,” says Claude next to Bernie. He seems to be a nice enough guy, even if there is something a little mischievous about him, and even if Dorothea only met him once at a summer camp. Bernie doesn’t know if she’d trust anyone to stay at her house if she only knew them for a week.

“Likewise,” a tall blonde boy with impeccable posture and a formal tinge in his voice says, approaching them. “I’m Dimitri. I’m glad you were able to find my house without any trouble.”

“Trouble seems to follow me, but it hasn’t caught up today,” Claude says. And then, with a glance over Dimitri and a quirk of his lips: “At least not yet.”

Dimitri blinks twice and stutters a bit before clearing his throat and saying, “L-let me introduce my friends. This is Ingrid, Mercedes, Dedue, Ashe, Annette, Felix, and Sylvain.”

Sylvain.

Finally, Bernie lifts her gaze to meet with that of a tall, broad-shouldered boy with a tuft of orange hair and a hesitant smile.

Her eyes go wide.

That’s Sylvain?

That’s the boy she’s been chatting with the past couple weeks? That’s the boy she’s going to be spending the night with?

That’s impossible. He’s too cute.

“So, how are we all paired off?” Dorothea asks.

Everyone steps around to make it a bit more obvious, mumbling to their partners or to themselves. Dimitri walks backwards a few steps, and Ingrid, a mature-looking athletic girl, meets him halfway. Annette, an adorable girl, perches next to an uncomfortable-looking Felix. The small boy, Ashe, wraps his arm around the arm of the taller, more muscular boy Dedue.

And Sylvain walks up to Bernie.

“Hey,” he says gently. His voice is nice, and he’s even cuter up close.

“H-hi,” Bernie squeaks.

Her legs are trembling so badly that she feels like she’ll fall any second now.

“Whoa, hey,” Sylvain says, reaching out for Bernie’s other hand. “We don’t want you to scuff your knee before we have to dance.”

Oh, heavens, take her now. Take her to her demise so she doesn’t have to deal with this awkward embarrassment.

“So, are you two just friends, or…?” Claude says, pointing at Dimitri and Ingrid.

Dimitri seems caught off guard once again. “Yes… was that obvious?”

“Kind-of, from the way you’re standing, but I was more just hoping,” Claude says smoothly. He turns to Ingrid. “Do you mind if I take your prince away?”

“By all means, go ahead,” Ingrid says, amused.

“In that case, you’re mine!” Dorothea says enthusiastically, dropping Bernie’s hand and grabbing Ingrid’s.

Ingrid stammers, “E-excuse me?”

“We’re definitely going to get married.”

“We are?”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

Felix scoffs. “Sylvain, you had nothing to worry about. They’re just as weird as we are.”

“Looks like it,” Sylvain laughs.

Weird. They’re weird. 

She’s weird.

Right when Bernie feels herself slipping into a pit of despair, she feels a squeeze in her hand.

She looks up to meet Sylvain’s bright smile.

“Don’t worry,” he says softly. “I like it.”

Bernie can literally feel her soul being lifted within her.

“Come on, let’s get these pictures done,” Mercedes’ calm voice lulls over them. “This food isn’t going to eat itself.

\--

The pictures are fine. Everyone’s standing so close to each other, and the proximity would make Bernie feel faint if she weren’t at the edge of the front row, and if Sylvain didn’t have his hand somewhere on her the entire time, either holding hers, on her back, or on her shoulder. Thank god he didn’t touch her hair, thoug—usually, with her shaggy mess, she wouldn’t care, but she has no idea what Dorothea did to it, and she definitely does not want to mess it up.

The ride to dinner is fine, too. All the girls are packed in Mercedes’ SUV, and easy conversation breaks out. The interaction could have been awkward, but it looks like Annette and Mercedes are already used to having to deal with an awkward Ingrid.

“Are you sure this dress doesn’t make my arms look too big?” Ingrid asks, looking at her arms.

“You’re fine, you’re fine,” Annette reassures from the passenger seat.

“I think it’s rather sexy,” Dorothea says with a smile.

Ingrid recoils. “S-sexy?”

“You could literally sweep me off my feet any day.”

“I, um.” Ingrid clears her throat. “I guess all that softball worked out.”

“See? Softball. I called it.”

“Called what?”

“Nothing.”

At the back of the car, Bernie giggles to herself.

Mercedes’ eyes flick over to Bernie through the rear view mirror. “So, Bernie, how long have you known Sylvain?”

Bernie’s heart catches in her mouth. “U-um… not long… maybe a few weeks.”

“What’s he like online?”

“He’s…” Bernie’s voice drops from its high pitched squeak to a more natural tone as she remembers Sylvain’s warm messages. “He’s really nice.”

“Sylvain? Nice?” Annette says with raised eyebrows. “I mean, yeah, I guess he is, but that’s not the first word I’d use to describe him.”

“It’s not?” Bernie says blinking.

“Not really. If I had to describe him, I’d say…”

“He’s a complete idiot?” Ingrid offers. “A dumbass useless group partner? A player and womanizer?”

“Womanizer?” Bernie’s stuck on that one.

Ingrid continues, “Oh, yeah, it’s like he learned how to flirt before he learned how to talk.”

“I don’t know about this one, Bernie,” Dorothea warns, glancing at her friend.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Mercedes says. “He seems to show a different side with Bernie. Wouldn’t you agree, Annette? He’s more... relaxed.”

“Yeah, much more genuine,” Annette agrees. “Maybe you’ll bring out the good in him.”

“Oh, please do, I’ve been trying to do that for years,” Ingrid pleads.

A thousand thoughts rush through Bernie’s head. Sylvain, a flirt? He didn’t come off that way at all in their messages. Was she just naive? Were all those messages just flirting? She’s never been flirted with before in her entire life, so she doesn’t know what that feels like, but she’s pretty sure she can catch it when it’s something like the way Dorothea’s touching Ingrid’s arm right now. But maybe she’s more able to notice that with other people, and it’d be harder to recognize it if it was directed at her.

But then is it also true that Sylvain seems more genuine with her? What does that mean? Who is the real Sylvain, this apparent serial flirt, or the kind boy she exchanges messages with?

Dorothea places a hand on Bernie’s.

“Don’t worry. If he tries anything, I’ll break his arms,” Dorothea reassures.

“I will, too,” Ingrid volunteers. “I’ll break his legs.”

“I’ll break his spirit,” Mercedes joins in.

“Ooh, what can I break? What’s left to break?”

“His… face?”

“Aww, but he puts so much time into his hair.”

“He really does, doesn’t he?”

Despite everything, Bernie giggles again. If anything, it’s clear that they all love Sylvain, even with his flaws. And it feels nice to be a part of a group who will gladly defend her.

—

It’s hard to focus on Ingrid’s words when Sylvain smiles at her like that. When he pulls the chair back for her at the restaurant and constantly checks to make sure she’s OK, all with that soft voice and those gentle eyes. When he’s chatting with Dimitri or Felix, he’s loud and cracks jokes, but as soon as he looks at Bernie, his voice softens.

“How was your food?” Sylvain asks as the server picks up their plates.

“It was… good,” Bernie answers uselessly.

Sylvain nods at where her silverware used to be. “So, could you tell which one was the salad fork and which was the steak fork?”

Bernie groans, feeling herself loosen up at the joke. “Don’t remind me.”

Laughing, Sylvain says, “I’m so glad you don’t have to do that anymore.”

“Me, too,” Bernie sighs. “It was annoying.”

“Not even just annoying, but like… insulting,” Sylvain says grimacing. “Maybe it’s not my place to say, but the way your dad treats you… it never sat well with me.”

Bernie takes a moment to try to parse out her thoughts on her father and then rests on, “I think he means well.”

“I guess. But there’s a way to do that without disrespecting someone.” Sylvain winces. “Sorry, it’s really not my place.”

“It’s OK.”

Really, she is sort of glad. It’s always been hard for her to be able to voice her thoughts about her father. Hearing someone else voice them feels oddly validating.

Is it really possible that someone like this could have the reputation of being such a player?

—

When they arrive at the venue, Bernie is overwhelmed, not only by how huge the venue is, but also by how many people are waiting around, how loud the music pounds, how bright the lights are.

She feels like she’s going to be swallowed up whole.

“Let’s go!” Annette says excitedly, pulling a frazzled Felix along with her.

“Just like that?” Claude muses with a raised eyebrow.

“Just like what?” Dimitri inquires.

“We’re not going to pregame or anything?”

“Pre… game…?” Dimitri’s head cocks.

Claude chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. “You really are a prince, aren’t you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Dedue, I’m borrowing your car,” Claude demands, holding out his hand for Dedue’s keys. “I promise I’ll return Your Highness in one piece.”

Dedue stares at him, unblinking, clearly trying to work out how bad of an influence Claude is.

He’s interrupted by Ashe pulling at his elbow. “Come on, Dedue, I want to dance with you.”

Letting out a grunt, Dedue drops his keys in Claude’s palm and then follows Ashe into the building. Claude grins and then motions for a genuinely confused Dimitri to follow him back to the parking lot.

Sylvain takes Bernie’s hand and steps forward, but Bernie’s feet don’t move.

He pauses and turns around. At what Bernie can only imagine is a terrified look on her face, Sylvain drops into a squat in front of her and offers a gentle smile.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he prods softly.

Bernie glances up. “It’s… a lot.”

“Yeah, it is,” Sylvain agrees. “If it’s anything like last year’s, there should be some spots where there are fewer people around. We can hang out there.”

“You were here last year?”

“Yeah.”

“With who?”

Sylvain grimaces. “With a girl who ended up slapping me by the end of the night. But I don’t want to think about that. I want to think about you.”

The words fall short on Bernie’s tongue. She wants to ask about that. She wants to ask what happened that made the girl last year slap him. But she can’t ask when Sylvain’s smiling at her like that.

“Come on,” Sylvain says, standing up straighter and giving her hand a little tug.

When they enter the venue, it really does feel like Bernie’s being swallowed up whole. Everything surrounds her, the people, their body heat, the music, the lights, the energy. It’s all she can do to cling onto Sylvain’s arm as he navigates the crowd with ease. He greets people left and right, giving high fives to the boys and smiling at the girls. They snake through the crowd until, just like Sylvain said, they find a spot near the edge, close to an open window, where they can actually hear each other over the music and bodies aren’t pressed up on Bernie on all sides.

“See?” Sylvain says with a reassuring smile. “Just like I promised.”

“You sure know a lot of people,” Bernie comments.

Sylvain waves a hand. “Eh, it’s just football.”

“Do you have a lot of fans?”

“Fans and enemies.”

“Enemies?”

Sylvain leans down closer to Bernie. “Don’t worry. No one’s gonna hurt you. And if they do, well.” Sylvain winks. “I’m not all talk.”

Bernie says nothing to that.

The music is loud and hard to ignore. And well, they shouldn’t be trying to ignore it anyway, right? This is a dance, after all.

Sylvain takes Bernie’s other hand and starts swaying left and right. Bernie tries her best to match Sylvain’s rhythm and the beat of the song, applying what she learned at finishing school.

Left, two, three… right, two, three…

“Don’t think about it too much,” Sylvain murmurs, pulling Bernie in a little closer. “Just relax.”

It’s hard to relax when all of her senses are firing off at once.

Thank god Sylvain’s holding onto her, or else she might just dissolve into a pool on the floor. At the same time, Sylvain’s warm, strong hands are a huge factor in the dizzying swarm of sensations she’s feeling. He’s so close, closer than any boy has ever been, and he’s looking at her in a way no one’s ever looked at her before.

A bubbling anxiety rises inside her, and she tries her best to shut her eyes and swallow it down, but her breath comes out short, and the world starts spinning.

“Bernie?”

“I-I,” Bernie starts. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Oh, OK.” Sylvain doesn’t sound too convinced, but he looks around anyway. “I think it’s over there. Want me to come with you?”

“N-no, it’s OK,” Bernie squeaks.

Maybe she would have wanted that, maybe it would have been better to have a guide through the mass of moving bodies, but she needs some space away from this source of overwhelming emotions and sensations.

She slips through the crowd, blessing her short stature for once, and then ducks into the bathroom. Grabbing on to the sink and taking a second to breathe, she glances up at the mirror.

It’s her, but she can barely recognize it’s her. Dorothea did an amazing job with makeup and hair. Her hair is straightened and pulled back in a cute clip, and her face looks bright and rosy in all the right places.

She actually looks cute, for once.

But that’s not her.

And is that Sylvain out there? Is that really him? Or is that someone else?

Who has she been talking to all this time? Does she really know who this boy is?

The door opens, and Bernie yelps as three giggling girls enter the bathroom.

The girls pause when they see her. They whisper amongst themselves for a bit while Bernie hurriedly washes her hands so she doesn’t look like an absolute freak just staring at herself in the mirror.

Finally, as she’s drying her hands, one of the girls steps forward.

“So, you’re Sylvain’s date, huh?” the girl says testily.

“Y-yes?” Bernie squeaks.

The girl gives her a judgy once-over before crossing her arms. “No wonder he rejected everyone else.”

A foreign feeling of pride rises through Bernie.

Sneering, the girl continues, “I didn’t know he had such bad taste.”

And the feeling inside of Bernie drops through the floor.

Cackling, the girls exit the bathroom, leaving Bernie somehow more alone than she was before.

Bad taste? Of course. She’s bad taste.

Of course Sylvain would be popular with girls. Why didn’t she think about that before? It was obvious even from just talking to the guy that he was kind. Of course with that kindness and his good looks, he would have all sorts of girls vying for his attention.

Stupid. She was so stupid to think she could ever have this. Even with this dress on, even with this makeup and this hair, she’s still Bernadetta von Varley: quiet, awkward, mess of a girl.

Wordlessly, she leaves the bathroom. She doesn’t even feel the ground underneath her, she doesn’t see the people around her or hear the noise around her. Her feet bring her to the exit of the venue, down the steps, toward the parking lot.

Barely, just barely, she registers someone calling out and footsteps quickening toward her.

“Bernie!”

A hand catches hers and spins her around. It’s Sylvain, in all his glory.

“Bernie! What’s wrong? Where are you going?” Sylvain asks, voice panicked and eyebrows knotted inward in concern.

The sudden twist of her body, the demanding words, and this beautiful boy in front of her makes everything come to a screeching halt, makes her vision focus again but in a loud, terrifying way.

“Let me go!” she shrieks, trying to pull out of Sylvain’s grasp.

“OK, OK,” Sylvain says, dropping her hand and raising his own in defense.

Breathing heavily, Bernie wraps her arms around herself and drops her gaze to the ground.

“Why did you… why did you ask me to come?” she says, voice barely above a whisper.

“Why…?” Sylvain trails off, face contorted in confusion. “I wanted to be here with you.”

“But why?” Bernie repeats, peering up at Sylvain. “Why did you ask me? Why didn’t you ask anyone else?”

“I didn’t want to be with anyone else.”

“But why not?” Bernie says, voice raising. “There are so many prettier girls here who clearly wanted to be here with you. Why me?”

“Bernie…” Sylvain is still struggling with the question. “I don’t care about anyone else.”

“ _ But why me? _ ” Bernie yells.

A few students nearby turn their heads. Sylvain glances around nervously before locking eyes once again with Bernie.

It’s not possible. There’s no way Sylvain would choose someone like her. There has to be some reason.

“Who am I?” Bernie whispers. “Who am I to you?”

Sylvain’s eyebrows shoot up. He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and his voice withers in the back of his throat.

Bernie bites her lip to keep it from trembling. “I don’t even know you. I thought I did, but the things people are saying… they’re not what I thought you are.”

“What are people saying?” Sylvain asks, almost accusingly.

Scrunching her face up to fight back tears, Bernie shakily says, “Why did you bring me here? When it’s online, it’s just the two of us. It’s just our world we made together. I can be who I want to be and not—this—”

She motions to herself, her fake makeup and fake hair and fake expensive dress.

“And you,” she continues, pointing at the object of her distress. “You can be—I don’t know, I don’t know if that’s the real you, or maybe that’s all an act, and maybe you’re just—trying to flirt with someone new after you’ve already flirted with every girl in the school.”

That one hurt. She can see the destruction in Sylvain’s eyes, the way his lips part and his whole body winces.

“I don’t know.” Bernie sinks to the ground and hangs her head, finally letting the tears flow from her eyes. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

“Bernie—”

Quick footsteps pad over to them, and then a heavy weight is on her shoulders. She recognizes the sweet and floral scent: Dorothea.

“Bernie, sweetie, are you OK?”

“Dorothea—”

“Shut up, Sylvain,” Dorothea snaps, her voice laced with venom. Then, sweet again, “Bernie, honey, let’s get you home.”

Bernie moans, “I don’t know… I don’t know…”

“It’s OK, sweetie, I’ve got you,” Dorothea cooes, rubbing at her shoulders. “Come with me to the parking lot, and then we’ll get you home.”

Bernie’s not even sure how she gets anywhere in her condition. She’s vaguely aware of things like Dorothea calling an Uber and texting Claude to get keys to the apartment. Then there’s the smell of a new car and buildings whipping past, the cool night air, an unfamiliar homey scent, Dorothea helping her out of her dress and her makeup, and then both of them sinking into a bed together.

She falls asleep with tears caked in her eyes and Dorothea’s hands stroking up and down her arms. 


	5. Chapter 5

When Bernie wakes up, she almost has a panic attack from not immediately recognizing her surroundings. If it weren’t for Dorothea walking into the room right as Bernie’s breath is starting to get short, she very well could have started calling 911.

“Hey,” Dorothea says softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “How’d you sleep?”

“Um… OK, I guess,” Bernie answers. She has to admit: it was pretty nice to sleep next to someone.

“That’s good,” Dorothea says with a small smile. “Come on, I made you breakfast.”

They head over the kitchen, where Dorothea pours both of them a cup of coffee. She places a sunny-side up egg on some fresh toast and presents it to Bernie, who half expects it to have a smiley face in ketchup.

“Where’s Claude?” Bernie asks, reaching for her fork.

“In his room with Dimitri,” Dorothea says, plopping her own egg on her toast. With a wink, she says, “Looks like things went well last night for them.”

“Oh,” Bernie says, blushing hard and glancing at the closed door. Then, with a start, “Ah, Ingrid! I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be,” Dorothea laughs. “I’ll always prioritize saving a friend from a guy over my own interests.”

Saving a friend from a guy, huh? Was that what happened? Was Sylvain just some gross guy going around making women uncomfortable?

Bernie’s eyes drop to her half-eaten meal. She still doesn’t really know what to think about what happened. Maybe she overreacted; it was clear some things she said had really cut deep into Sylvain. Was she being unfair?

“Do you mind telling me what happened?” Dorothea asks gently, sitting down at the table across from Bernie.

Bernie bites her lip. “We met online. He seemed so sweet. He always listened to me, really listened, like no one’s ever done before. But then I came here, and Ingrid and the others—they said he was a huge flirt, and there were some girls in the bathroom who said… they said…”

Bernie shuts her eyes tight. She was bad taste.

“Bernie…” Dorothea says carefully. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No, no, of course not,” Bernie blurts. “I don’t think he would hurt anyone. Not intentionally, at least.”

Dorothea considers Bernie for a second before biting into her food. “What do you think about him?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it sounds like you’re seeing one thing and hearing another. But who cares what the others say?” Dorothea leans in. “What do you think? Which side of him feels real to you?”

Sylvain… his eyes are so warm whenever they meet hers. His smile is nice and comforting. When he talks with anyone else, his voice gets loud and a little showy, a little like he’s putting on a character. But when he looks at her, the act fizzles away to show a kind boy underneath.

But how is she to know? Can she really trust him after having met him for less than a day?

“I don’t know,” Bernie sighs. “That’s why I freaked out so badly last night.”

Dorothea finishes the rest of her plate. “I think you should talk to him.”

“T-talk?”

“Listen, girl, I’ve talked with a lot of boys, and if there’s one thing I know about them, it’s that you have to just be straight-forward with them.” Dorothea winks. “They’re kind of dumb, they can’t read between the lines, and they don’t even understand their own feelings. So the best we women can do is corner them into talking.”

“I… I don’t want to pressure him,” Bernie fumbles for words.

“Well, it’s up to him if he actually wants to talk, but I think it’d be better for both of you,” Dorothea says, getting up. “It seems like there are a lot of unanswered questions.”

Bernie drops her gaze to her lap. “OK. I’ll message him when I get home.”

“You don’t want to try to grab him while we’re here?”

“I’m… too scared.”

Dorothea pauses before taking Bernie’s plate. “Tell ya what: I’m going into town to meet up with Ingrid. Why don’t you join us?”

“Oh, no, I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding, silly. I’m sure she’d love to have you.” Dorothea takes Bernie’s hand. “Now, let’s get dressed.”

Bernie really doesn’t know what she would do without Dorothea.

\--

Dorothea talks all the way into the heart of the city, through all the subway rides and every transfer. It was difficult at first to keep up with her pace, but after some practice, Bernie’s able to keep up—at least a little.

They turn a corner, and then Dorothea picks up her pace as she sees a girl waving in front of a cafe.

“Ingrid!” Dorothea exclaims.

“Hello,” Ingrid says, a little formal, with a small smile on her face. “I’m glad you got around the city safely.”

“And if I hadn’t, would you have saved me like my knight in shining armor?” Dorothea says playfully.

Ingrid awkwardly raises a hand in front of her chest as she unsuccessfully tries to fight down a blush. “Weren’t all knights… men?”

“You could be the first female knight, then,” Dorothea says, taking Ingrid’s hand in hers. “Anyway, some girls just have more spine than guys do.”

Right on cue, the door to the café opens, and a tall boy with bright orange hair walks out.

His eyes catch Bernie’s, and Bernie quite literally feels her heart fall to the ground.

—

The look on Bernie’s face breaks his heart. Yesterday, she was hesitant, shy, but there was an innocent curiosity about her that he was working to unwind. It was like trying to coo a cat out of its hiding place and convince it that the world was safe to venture into, that people weren’t harmful and in fact were warm and friendly. Sylvain had seen Bernie start to lower her guard, he’d seen her small, precious smiles; which is why it felt so awful to see her once again with that fearful look on her face—and be the reason for that look and regression.

He really screwed up.

“Let’s all go inside,” Ingrid suggests.

Instead of walking toward the entrance of the café, Bernie takes a step back, but Dorothea catches her hand and whispers something in her ear. Considering the way she hissed at Sylvain last night, it’s probably a threat to him if he tries any funny business.

“Don’t fuck this up, asshole,” Ingrid says to Sylvain with narrowed eyes. He hasn’t seen her this pissed off since the time he tried to flirt with her grandma.

Sylvain nods. “I’ll try not to.”

“Don’t try,” Ingrid says, opening the door to the café. “Just do it.”

After awkwardly ordering drinks, Ingrid and Dorothea find a two-person table, forcing Sylvain and Bernie to find their own. Sylvain’s hands wrap around his hot drink in an attempt to calm his nerves with the warmth. Bernie, on the other hand, is clutching an iced drink that literally trembles in her little hands. She refuses to make eye contact with him.

Don’t fuck this up, asshole.

“Hey, I, uh…” Sylvain starts, voice cracking. He clears his throat. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about last night.”

Bernie tucks her chin against her chest.

Sylvain continues, trying not to think too much and just speaking from the heart. “I’m sorry for asking you to come all the way out here and then just stressing you out. I’m sorry for putting pressure on you just by being with me. I’m sorry for not telling you about the parts of me I don’t like.”

At that last remark, Bernie finally speaks up. “You shouldn’t be sorry for who you are.”

Sylvain’s grip on his drink tightens as his heart twists. “The truth is, I don’t know if that is who I am. I’ve been a fuckboy for so long that I can’t even tell if it’s an act or not.”

Saying it out loud, he realizes just how pathetic he sounds. This whole time, he thought he was the confident one, the rock, helping Bernie find her place in the world. Maybe he’s just as lost as she is.

But that’s exactly why she’s so important to him.

“What I do know is that I don’t feel the need to put on that act when I’m around you,” he admits.

Finally, Bernie looks up. Her eyes are wide, and she looks at him like she’s finally seeing him, really him, for the first time.

They’ve gotten it all wrong. Bernie’s not the one who’s struggling with herself and needs support: it’s Sylvain. There have been signs here and there—the way his heart hurts when he passes by his brother’s perpetually closed door, how he always deflects questions about himself and focuses instead on her, and how he feels so relaxed when he’s able to push away parts of himself he doesn’t like when he goes online. Neither of them realized just how repressed everything is for him.

But now, with all his cards on the table, finally facing the parts of himself he doesn’t want to face, he feels bare, naked, genuine in a terrifying, vulnerable way.

This is it. This is him. This is him, with all his good and his bad, whether he likes it or not.

“I like you better like this,” Bernie finally says. “The other you is pretty stupid.”

Sylvain laughs, relief washing over him. “He is pretty stupid, isn’t he?”

With a small smile, Bernie drops her gaze again and takes a sip of her drink.

He wants to see her again. He needs to. Not only because he gave her such an awful experience in his hometown, but also to prove that he can be better than this, this broken excuse of a boy.

“Do you think... we can meet up again?” Sylvain asks hesitantly.

Bernie glances up. She looks at him like she can see right through him, like she knows everything he’s thinking.

He hopes she can.

“Maybe,” is all she says.

Sylvain allows himself to smile. “I’ll take a maybe.”

—

“Hey! Hope you made it home safe. Text me when you land! Thanks again for coming to see me. Next time, I’ll fly over to see you.”

“Hi! I just landed. Waiting for my dad to come pick me up. Maybe let’s meet up again when we’re both in college, and I don’t have to live with my dad anymore?”

“How about instead of that, we just go to the same school? You said your first choice is Garreg Mach, right? It makes sense, since it’s between us. Ohio seems cool.”

“That actually might be nice. If I can get in, of course.”

“Sure, you’ll get in. And when we’re both there, I’ll hang out with you all the time. You’ll start regretting that we were hundreds of miles apart before.”

“Lol. Hopefully by that time, you’ll have figured yourself out a bit.”

“Hopefully. And hopefully, you’ll be a little easier on yourself, too.”

“We have time. We can have a lot of growth in a year or so.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you in around a year, Bernie. When we’ve both grown up a bit.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you then.”

—

A year later, on a sunny college green, amidst a sea of excited freshman, a small girl with dark, combed hair and a tall boy with bright, flippy hair catch each other’s eyes. The girl has a little hunch to her shoulders, but she’s trying her best to stand up straight. The boy, despite clearly putting much effort into his hair and his looks, has a warm, genuine smile on his face.

The boy extends a hand. “Hi. I’m Sylvain.”

“Hi, Sylvain,” the girl responds, taking the offered hand. “I’m Bernie.”

There are hundreds of students running around the green, but it feels like it’s just them in their world.

“You look...” Sylvain tries to find the right words. “You look happy.”

The side of Bernie’s mouth quirks up. “You look like not a jerk.”

Sylvain laughs. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Finally, Bernie smiles fully. “I look forward to getting to know you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the few other rarepair shippers out there who stuck with me through this whole thing TT


End file.
